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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759068">Sweeten Lemon with Honey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Except_on_Tuesday/pseuds/Except_on_Tuesday'>Except_on_Tuesday</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Days Like These [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gavin Reed Being an Idiot, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed Whump, Gavin Reed is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Gift Fic, Hank Being Awesome, Home remedies, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Prompt Fill, Protective Hank Anderson, Sick Gavin Reed, Worried Hank Anderson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:20:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Except_on_Tuesday/pseuds/Except_on_Tuesday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin repeatedly smashes through his own limits, shouting down what he can’t push aside.  But maybe just this once, it’ll be okay to stop shouting, stop pushing and accept a little help from his superior officer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson &amp; Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Days Like These [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670689</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweeten Lemon with Honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stark_attack/gifts">stark_attack</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>--</p><p>Gavin swallowed against the scratchy tightness in his throat as he closed down the evidence room. <em>Should probably drink water...</em>he cleared his throat and hacked on something thick...<em>at some point...</em></p><p>But the idea of swallowing anything made his throat itself reject the plan with a memory of his morning coffee. It had aggravated his throat, leaving him with the scratchy lump in his throat and no caffeine. Meaning that he now also had a nagging headache.</p><p>Despair stirred as he realized how high his stress had grown, but Gavin snuffed the dark feeling out before it could rear its head. <em>Not that bad...just...just need to concentrate. One thing atta time.</em></p><p>And somewhere, deep down in the furthest edge of his mind he knew he wouldn’t be left crushed alone under the weight that was his life. The knowledge wasn’t a coherent thought. Likely, he wasn’t even aware of its existence. As far as he knew, the old weight was just a little easier to lift and shift so he could go on with his day.</p><p>Gavin frowned at the console under his hands as his thoughts realigned to a specific purpose. As he’d initially suspected, no link existed between his current homicide case and the old, cold case he’d looked up. A few similarities in the new case had called to his mind the cold case, but apparently murderers were as uninventive as always.</p><p>Or maybe it was the fault of mass produced cheap decor items.</p><p><em>Paperweights and ashtrays should come with a warning: ‘this might be used to kill you.’</em> Why people wanted to provide killers with handy murder weapons, he didn’t know. <em>People who can’t protect themselves need to be wrapped in bubble wrap...then crime rates would drop and I could actually get some phckin’ sleep...but that would be a lot of frickin’ bubble wrap...</em></p><p>He chuckled at the mental image of Detroit swathed in bubble wrap as he closed the menus on the console with a few swipes and logged himself out. His humor trailed off as an amorphous black splotch floated across his vision.</p><p><em>The f—k? </em>Gavin blinked, but his lids seemed to stick over sandy eyes that were a size too big for their sockets. He groaned and rubbed roughly at his aching eyes with both fists. <em>Probably from staring at the screen. No big deal. </em>He blinked again. The screen grew a tad clearer. <em>See I—</em></p><p>A harsh cough burst from him, almost doubling him with its force and needles jabbed behind his eyes. He leaned against the console and hacked thickly, trying to dislodge the discomfort wedged in his throat.</p><p>It. Wouldn’t. Come. Loose.</p><p>And it hurt.</p><p>He bit his lip and let the computer console hold his weight for a minute as he tried to recuperate. The thrum and warmth of the large computer was nice. It couldn’t ask him why he wasn’t working. It didn’t care if he took a minute.</p><p>Gavin sighed a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the general misery that weighed on him and made it almost impossible to follow a consistent line of thought for more than a few minutes at a time.</p><p>When he opened his eyes again, he swore. “Aww, hell...” He groaned and straightened up and wiped the spittle-splattered console with his sleeve, smearing a tiny flat rainbow across the bright screen.</p><p>“Phck.” Now all the finger grease and oil was smudged. The more he worked at it with his sleeve, the worse it became.</p><p>
  <em>Making a mess, Gavin....screwing everything up...</em>
</p><p>“Phck.” He growled and coughed again. The console still wouldn’t come clean. He threw up his hands. “Be like that then.” His voice was miserably rough. “This day...”</p><p>He tried to restrain another cough, but it ripped out, tearing through his raw throat and renewing the pain that had only begun to subside since the last one. He slammed his fist against the console as he choked on another half-strangled cough. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle it.  </p><p>
  <em>Can’t can’t let anyone know.</em>
</p><p>Half-smothered, but glad he hadn’t attracted any attention to himself, Gavin stared at his hand.</p><p>“D-d—mmit. Notta‘gain.” He was more annoyed than worried about the speckles of pink blood in his palm. He’d ‘googled’ it a few days ago. Perfectly normal side-effect of a bad cough. Nothing to worry about. He wiped his hand off on his pant legs. <em>I’ve had worse.</em></p><p>He shuffled out of the evidence room and headed for the stairs.</p><p>
  <em>Stairs.</em>
</p><p>He stared up at the stairwell leading out of the evidence locker. The passageway loom up, high and far.</p><p>
  <em>So many stairs. </em>
</p><p>And his bones felt as if they were filled with cold lead.</p><p>
  <em>Get a move on, Reed.</em>
</p><p>He cleared his throat roughly. “’k...”</p><p>He set his foot on the first step. His ears sang and his vision clouded to black.</p><p>“S-Sh—t...” He sat down on the step, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and curled against the wall, seeking its firm unmovable stability. He wished it wasn’t so cold...</p><p>--</p><p>Few things got a real reaction out of Hank Anderson anymore, but when he saw Gavin slouched at the bottom of the stairwell leading to the evidence locker, his chest went cold. <em>Did he fall?</em></p><p>Hank hurried down the steps and crouched next to the body propped against the wall. He hesitated one second before he put a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. With his other hand he checked the man’s pulse. Hank breathed a hissed curse when he felt the clammy skin. “You idiot.”</p><p>Gavin had recently fought off an ugly bout of food poisoning that had led to a case of bronchitis. After being ordered off duty for a week to recover, Gavin had come back thin and pale and angry, but insisting that he was fine.</p><p>Apparently Gavin was a little liar.</p><p>“Stupid, stupid idiot.” Hank was about to text Ben when a hand dropped over his own, covering the screen. Hank looked up to see Gavin staring at him with dark shadowed eyes.</p><p>“Don’t. ‘m’kay.” Gavin’s voice was a harsh rasp.</p><p>Hank shook his head. “You were unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. I don’t think you qualify for the ‘okay’ category of health.”</p><p>Gavin’s suddenly bright eyes were hid behind a weak glare. “I...” He winced and touched his throat, unconsciously conveying to Hank’s watchful eyes the source of the problem. Gavin’s fingers tightened, as if to punish his own throat for its weakness.</p><p>“Hey, no.” Hank said, brow furrowed and reaching automatically to grab Reed’s hand. A growl stopped him, but it also aggravated the damaged tissue of Gavin’s throat and more coughing forced Gavin to hunch over his knees and suck in shallow breaths which led to more coughing.</p><p>Gavin stamped his foot and slammed his head back against the wall. Pure frustration and loathing rolled off him in waves as thick as the heat from his feverish body.    </p><p>“Alright. Alright. Take it easy.” Hank tried to rub Gavin’s back—it was something he did sometimes to comfort Connor when the android was worked up—but he quickly retracted his hand after the younger detective nearly fell off the step to avoid the hand. Hank dithered for a minute, trying to decide how to help the high-strung and defensive man. “Alright.” He said, holding out his hand. “Up you go. You can’t stay here.” He played to Gavin’s own tendencies. “Someone’s gonna come down here eventually an’ then you get to explain to two people that you forced yourself back to work too early. C’mon.”</p><p>He wasn’t surprised when Gavin refused his hand and pulled his own self up. Glaring, the wobbly sergeant leaned against the wall, fingers clutching at the sheer surface behind him. He tried to cross his arms, but ended up losing his balance and nearly fell off the one step he’d managed to climb.</p><p>Hank was ready for the moment when Gavin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and the younger detective slumped forward. Hank caught Gavin easily.</p><p><em>Kid’s lost weight.</em> Hank noted with some concern as he adjusted his grip around Gavin’s narrow waist. He made a mental note to remind Moneypenny to issue an order to restock Gavin’s favorite vending machine.</p><p>Hank sighed and eyed the stairwell. He could call Connor, but...he looked at Gavin slouched against his side. Gavin would hate having anyone else know he’d pushed himself past his limits. Connor was a good kid, but something told Hank that Gavin did not need to be overwhelmed with help right now.</p><p>Feeling a little like he was twenty years younger and sneaking a drunk colleague home past curfew, Hank took a breath and steeled himself for the climb.</p><p>--</p><p>Somehow without attracting attention, Hank managed to get Reed to the old conference room the DPD had renovated into a private rest area for its overworked detectives. It had a kitchenette, several couches, and a vending machine—filled with an assortment of comfort foods—and several comfortable chairs. The cupboards and fridge were stocked with a huge assortment of food items and supplies. Coffee was strictly forbidden, but tea was allowed and a large electric kettle sat on one counter. The room was located away from the traffic and noise of the newer rooms and the bullpen, so it was quiet and Hank could feel some of his own stress melt away in the comfortable atmosphere.</p><p>He carefully deposited Gavin onto one of the couches he usually saw him using on the few occasions they’d encountered each other there. “There ya go.” Hank said as he arranged Gavin’s limbs and wriggled off his shoes.</p><p>“An’son?”</p><p>Hank winced at the hollow rasp. “Don’t talk, kid.” He said, tossing the worn out shoes under the couch. He waved his hand at Gavin. “All of you needs to rest.”</p><p>Gavin looked scandalized. “Ah don’t—</p><p>His voice ended on a painful crack. A pitiful cough and a tiny groan punctuated the end of the lie.</p><p>“Yeah. I’m sure.” Hank muttered as he searched through several cupboards for what he wanted. “Ah hah.” He pulled down a heavy first aid kit. He chose a small bottle and after reading the label he poured out a measure of red liquid into the little cup. “Here.” Hank pushed the small cup of cherry redness at Gavin who promptly recoiled as if he’d been offered poison. “It’s a fever reducer.” Hank said.</p><p>“No.” Gavin rasped pushing Hank’s hand away. “Tastes like—</p><p>“It says ‘cherry’.” Hank said, swirling the thick substance. He was half amused and half annoyed.</p><p>Gavin threw himself backward on the couch with a disgruntled, angry noise and covered his face with his arm.</p><p>“I’ve seen you eat and drink much worse out of the breakroom fridge.” Hank said, pushing the little cup nearer. “You need to get that fever and inflammation in your throat down—</p><p>“’Norra‘flamshun.”</p><p>Hank continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “and if you don’t want to go to the hospital,” he set the little measuring cup on the table, “You’re gonna take that.” He pointed.</p><p>Gavin peeked out from under his arm and shook his head. “Makes ‘m head fuzzy...” The protest sounded like a plea. “Needta...” His voice trailed away again. He swallowed thickly and the edges of his eyes scrunched. “...work....?”</p><p>“Drink it.” Hank ordered. His patience was wearing thin.  </p><p>At the tone, every single one of Gavin’s hackles and warning colors flared in defense. He lashed out with a foot and knocked away the medicine cup with much more force than it deserved. Leaving a trail of red goop, it spun out of sight under a counter.</p><p>Gavin’s scoff of victory turned to a real cough and a low cry of muffled pain. He curled in on himself shaking his head and pressing his hands against his temples.</p><p>“Ah...sh—t, kid....look.” Hank lowered his voice and forced himself to relax as he sat on the edge of the table in front of the couch. “You’re sick, Gavin. You need medicine.”  </p><p>Gavin shook his head. The expression in his clouded eyes conveyed his thoughts.</p><p>“You aren’t fine.” Hank said firmly but still gentle. “Your health isn’t a bargaining chip. And this isn’t a power play.” He said. “I’m not tryin’ t’control ya kid. Look. Ya know what? F—k the medicine. You’re right. It’s nasty. I’m gonna fix you something tasty.” He stood up with false energy and strode over to the cabinets. “A treat. I think you’ll like it.”</p><p>A scoff answered him.</p><p>Ignoring that vote of confidence, Hank found a water glass, filled it from the tap and shoved it into the little microwave. He heard the couch’s springs squeak and caught a glimpse of Gavin in the microwave’s door. The other detective was leaning forward on the couch trying to see what Hank was up to.</p><p>Hank hid a smirk.</p><p>While the water heated, Hank rolled a lemon—found in the back of the fridge—between his hands, squashing it gently until the scent of fresh lemon filled the small room. Sympathetic to the sick man on the couch, Hank stopped the microwave before it could beep and let the water sit while he sliced up the lemon.</p><p>He could feel Gavin watching every move.</p><p>Lemon sliced into thin curls, Hank retrieved the hot water, swearing when the glass burned his fingers. He dropped the lemon curls into the water and flicked out a few seeds caught on the edge of the glass.  </p><p>Leaving the concoction on the counter, yellow curls swirling in the steaming water, Hank got out a small bottle of honey. The couch squeaked again.</p><p>Hank squeezed a generous third of the bottle into the hot lemon water. He gave it a rough stir with the spoon. “Okay,” he tossed the utensil into the sink. “That should be right. Should have a little ginger, but I don’t think you’d be a fan of that.” He turned around, glass in hand. “There.”</p><p>Looking suspicious, Gavin slunk back when Hank handed the cup over. His eyes flicked at the little table.</p><p>Hank obliged the silent request and set the cup down and then walked over to lean against the counter to wipe up the mess he’d made while preparing the concoction.</p><p>While Hank’s back was turned, Gavin picked up the warm glass and watched the honey swirl in a golden whirlpool at the bottom with the curls of yellow lemon.</p><p>Hank patted the back of the couch as he walked past. “I need to go check on something.” He said. “Take care of yourself, Reed.”</p><p>A little cough was his only answer as he walked out.</p><p>--</p><p>Hank didn’t go far. He didn’t even need to check anything. He’d only wanted to give Reed a little privacy. After about ten minutes, Hank returned to the little room and smirked.</p><p>Gavin was asleep. One arm was curled to his chest—the empty water glass clutched in hand—while the other arm was draped around his own waist.</p><p>“Good.” Hank whispered and nodded. He shut off the light and was about to turn away when he heard a soft sob. He turned back, eyebrow raised.</p><p>In the dim light provided by the hall lights, Hank could see Gavin shifting restlessly.</p><p>Hank frowned. Gavin was grinding his teeth.  Loudly.  Hank shook his head as he walked over and knelt by the restless and sick detective. He hesitated but when another tiny sob escaped Gavin’s dry lips, he carefully set a hand on the younger man’s head—<em>don’t bite me don’t bite me don’t bite me</em>—Hank brushed a palm over Gavin’s hair in the same light motion he’d seen Ben use once.</p><p>Like a charm, the gesture calmed Gavin; his jaw relaxed and the lines eased from his face.</p><p><em>I can’t believe that actually worked! </em>Hank felt oddly proud. He fought back a grin as he wriggled the empty glass out of Gavin’s tight hold.</p><p>Hank put a careful hand to Gavin’s forehead, cheek and neck testing his temperature. A low grumble answered the touch, but Reed stayed asleep. His temperature was still high, but hopefully the home remedy and a short rest would help. <em>I’ll give him a few hours. If it doesn’t go down I’ll send Connor to come snake charm ‘im. </em></p><p>A frustrated murmur drifted from the sleeping homicide detective, “......m’job...”</p><p>“Your job right now is to rest.” Hank said, keeping his voice low and calm. “Can you do that?”</p><p>“...yeah...” Gavin’s voice was still raspy. “’kay...”</p><p>Before leaving, Hank couldn’t resist another glance at the man sleeping on the couch. In a few days, hopefully, Reed would return to his usual terrible, unstoppable, loud self.</p><p>The idea didn’t bother Hank as much as he thought it should.</p><p>--</p><p>End.</p>
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